LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 
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UNITED STATES OF AMEBIC 



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FROM HEART AND NATURE 



BY 
SARAH KNOWLES BOLTON 

AND 



CHARLES KNOWLES, BOLTON 




NEW YORK 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 

No. 13 Astor Place 

1887 



Copyright, 
Charles Knowles Bolton, 
1887. 

IZ-^6VlL 



POEMS 



BY 



CHARLES KNOWLES BOLTON. 



TO 

S. K. B. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Acorn Cups ' . . . . 7 

Hope 10 

An Indian Legend 11 

The Rose's Soul 15 

Lake Geneva 16 

Beauty in Sorrow 18 

The Monastery 19 

The Burial of De Soto 21 

Dandelions 23 

She and I 25 

Old Ocean's Daughter 28 

A Sonnet at Evening 29 

My Waterfall -3° 

Wild Oats 32 

Home 32 

NARRATIVE POEMS. 

The Cypriot Slave 33 

The Defence of the Alamo 38 

5 



6 CONTENTS. 

Page 

Adele 41 

A Story of the Peninsular War 46 

Codrus of Athens 50 

Warriors of the Soudan 54 

A Revery 59 

Recreation 60 

Sunset 62 

Prince Victor of Italy 63 

Morning Glories 64 

Jugurtha Dying » . . 65 

On a Picture 69 

My Fates 70 

The Berkshire Hills 72 

Time's Darling is Dead 74 

Womanhood 76 

A Birthday Ode 77 

The Sculptor 80 

QUATRAINS. 

By the Sea 81 

A Three-Leaf Clover 81 

Nature 82 

Opportunity 82 



FROM HEART AND NATURE. 



ACORN CUPS. 

On tip-toe step, or you will wake 

The wood-nymphs in that hollow tree ! 
Tread lightly, lest you heedless break 

The wine-cups of their revelry : 
But hark ! I hear their little wings ; 

Come softly now and look with me — 
'Twas but a sentinel, who brings 

The news of what he seems to see. 

Just peep beneath this golden-rod, 
These purple asters, bending o'er 

The curling leaves and verdant sod, 

Where nymphs their tiny treasures store ; 
7 



ACORN CUPS. 

In little sets they've laid them here, 
Still wet with dews of day before ; 

One all alone, ill-shaped, and near, 
This heap of acorns, ten or more. 

Here two cups tied ; perhaps there were 

Two lovers, telling love anew ; 
One wont to plead, one to defer 

Her promise till she found him true : 
And here within are circles wrought, 

As though still lingering, darkness flew, 
And, loving late, before they thought, 

The sun's face rose their wine-cups through. 

And here are three ; three jovial friends 

Have supped together, laughed and sung 
Their legend tales, till present blends 

With times of long ago ; among 
The haunts of Ida's steep decline, 

Or where Arcadian reed-notes rung, 
They boast of ancestry, and pine 

For boughs by Orient breezes swung. 



ACORN CUPS. 

Step lightly, now, and do not break 

The acorn cups the wood-nymphs hide ; 
And quickly go before they wake 

And flee away up mountain side : 
But let us plant an acorn here, 

That, under branches spreading wide, 
Our fairy friends may year by year 

Their wine-cups fill at even-tide. 



HOPE. 

In the blackest night 
There are threads of light 
Which will weave a way 
To the realm of day ; 
In the lashing sea 
Lurks melody ; 
In the heart of wrong 
Is a cleansing song ; 
From no soul once born 
Has the crushing scorn 
Of the world out-trod 
The life-germ of God. 



AN INDIAN LEGEND. 

On autumn days 

A mellow haze 
Perfumes the languid air; 

And floats 
O'er tasseled corn and waving oats, 

And vineyards fair. 

O'er hill and dale 

A purple veil 
It scintillates and gleams ; 

And charms 
The picturesque New England farms 

And tranquil streams. 

On mountain snows 
It seeks repose, 
Or in the verdant dell; 
ii 



I2 AN INDIAN LEGEND. 

It lies 
Beneath the twilight's golden skies, 
On sea and fell. 

Its origin 

Has often been 
The theme of legend art ; 

And still, 
Perchance, an Indian sometimes will 

This tale impart : 

" When all the grain 
From frost and rain 
Is safe for winter days, 

And bare 
And shorn, the hill-side everywhere, 
Of yellow maize, 

"There sits before 
His wigwam door 
Great Manabozho, ruler he 
Of all 



AN INDIAN LEGEND. 

The prairied West, and lakes, we call 
The inland sea. 

" He sees the land 
From grain of sand, 
He fashioned for his own ; 

And here 
The rippled, blue-faced water,' dear 
Companion grown. 

" Contentment now 
Upon his brow, 
He murmurs, { It is good/ 

And takes 
His corn-cob pipe and fills, and makes 
A fire of wood. 

" A living coal 
Within the bowl 
He puts, and smokes the pipe 

Of peace; 
That long prosperity increase, 
With harvests ripe. 



13 



14 



AN INDIAN LEGEND. 

" O'er dells and dales 
His breath exhales 
The perfumed smoke for days." 

'Tis thus, 
The legend says, there comes to us 
The autumn haze. 



THE ROSE'S SOUL. 

The rose's color soon shall fade, 

Like sunset pass away ; 
The first sweet flush of life that' made 

Its beauty cannot stay. 

The rose's form shall turn to dust, 
And withered, crumbling lie; 

The tender leaves in silence, must 
Give up their joys and die. 

But fragrance does not turn to earth 

At wintry winds' control ; 
It is a thing of heavenly birth, — 

It is the rose's soul. 



LAKE GENEVA. 

On thy waters, Lake Geneva, 

Where we ride, ride and row, 

Mighty mountains laced in snow, 
Blending shadows softly weave a 

Veil upon the waves below, 

Where we ride, ride and row. 

Near thy shores, clear Lake Geneva, 
Where we glide, glide and row, 
Tinkling bell-notes come and go, 

Lights grow dim, and wild flowers leave a 
Fragrance on the air below, 
Where we glide, glide and row. 

All is fair, dear Lake Geneva, 

Where we glide and ride and row; 
And as Alpine breezes blow, 
16 



LAKE GENEVA. 

In the gloaming we conceive a 
Paradise is here below, 
Where we glide and ride and row. 
Coppet, Switzerland. 



17 



BEAUTY IN SORROW. 

Souls that master sorrows, 

Bear and oft forbear, 
Find existence borrows 

Richness from Life's care; 
See each fresh to-morrow's 

Sky new beauty wear; 
Beauty born of sorrows 

Is most truly fair. 



18 



THE MONASTERY. 

Dim lights in the chancel play, 
Filtered by dust's decay ; 

Where monk once read 

All life is dead 
To-day. 

The flowers are faded away, 
Withered and gone for aye; 

Their fragrance sped, 

Purple and red, 
To-day. 

No chants in those cloisters gray, 
No echo of call to pray ; 
No prayers are said, 
No choir is led 
To-day. 
19 



20 THE MONASTERY. 

No censers to God now sway, 
No servants left to obey ; 

Stones at each head 

Number the dead 
To-day. 

Lit by a sunbeam ray, 
The saint and his shrine of clay 
Are overspread 
With mystic dread 
To-day. 

The wind-blown leaflets stray, 
Rustling a dying lay ; 

God's peace is shed 

Over the dead 
To-day. 



THE BURIAL OF DE SOTO. 

Requiem aeternam 

Dona eis, Domine; 
Softly rose the anthem ;- 
Peace eternal grant them, 
Holy Father; grant them 

Heavenly peace this day. 

Reverently they circle 
Round the lifeless form ; 

On the bank in crowds, 

In the midnight shrouds, 

Under angry clouds, 

Wolves foretell the storm. 

Like a feeble protest 

Come the words of prayer 
"Save our noble master — 

21 



22 THE BURIAL OF DE SOTO. 

Wilt thou drive us faster 
Onward to disaster, 
Onward to despair?" 

Cold in death, De Soto 
Kissed the river's brine, 

Like a knightly lover; 

Waves he helped discover, 

Forming now the cover 
Of his earthly shrine. 

And as I am sitting, 
Dreaming of that day, 

Still the tide is praying 

In its rippled playing; 

Reqtiiem> 'tis saying, 
Dona eisy Domine. 



DANDELIONS. 

" My child," the pious father cried, 
" For you the blessed Saviour died ; 
For you he seeks ; the way is wide. 

" But entering you must leave behind 
Your wealth, for there you ever find 
Those happiest who were truly kind." 

" But how, pray, father, may I be 
So kind," the sinner said, "and see 
This palace which is kept for me?" 

" My child," the monk replied, " now sell 
Your lands, and giving, count it well 
Thus easy you are saved from hell." 

"Yes, yes, my father," said the man, 
23 



2 4 



DANDELIONS. 

" But what of earth, and never can 
I have reward?" — thus on he ran. 

The priest in silence knelt, and prayed ; 
Then rising said, " The Lord has made 
Your gold increasing, not to fade." 

They looked, when lo ! once pale and white, 
The meadow, now one field of bright 
And gaudy yellow, met the sight. 

The sinner turned, and weeping said : 
" My gold is His ; let truth be spread 
Like this ; let all the world be fed. 

"Wherever yellow flower shall blow, 
There we must be to let men know 
Of Christ, and seeds of mercy sow." 

And still by peasants it is told 

How dandelions once of old 

Were changed from white to living gold. 



SHE AND I. 

We stood alone together — 

She and I — 
Upon the sandy shore ; 

The air was fresh as Eden weather; 
I wished for nothing more. 

We spoke of life before us, 

With toils and final rest ; 
It seemed the quiet river bore us 

Away upon its breast. 

She looked across the water 

That rippled at our feet ; 
I thought the white-winged angels sought her, 

To make their heaven complete. 
25 



26 SHE AND I. 

The swallows seemed to love her, 
And like her presence there ; 

The sea-gulls nearer came to hover; 
Sweet May-buds bound her hair. 

She turned in silent pleasure 

And looked across the sea ; 
She asked me who could tell or measure 

How far that shore might be. 

We talked of trifles, trifling, 
And homeward made our way ; 

It seemed that love was surely rifling 
My thoughts from me that day. 



We are no more together — 

She and I — 
The birds of song have fled ; 

The world for me is winter weather; 
The heart of spring is dead. 



SHE AND I. 



27 



And many times still standing, 

/ ask the question now : 
How far is that dim, distant landing, 

Unknown to earthly prow? 



OLD OCEAN'S DAUGHTER. 

Along the shore a little child, 

Upon her knees was playing; 
Was laughing at the surges wild, 

Their snowy crests arraying : 
The breezes blew her golden hair, 

And with her dress they bound her; 
Her cheeks were red with salt sea air, 

And there the ocean found her. 

Old Father Sea came up the beach, 

She quickly fled in laughter; 
He slowly sank beyond her reach, 

She followed nimbly after : 
And so upon the bright sea sands, 

Old ocean gave his greeting; 
He, ever loving, held his hands, 

She, ever shy, retreating. 
28 



A SONNET AT EVENING. 

The moon's pale light, between the half-closed 
shutter, 

Falls dimly on the book-shelves of my room ; 

While shadows, woven by an unseen loom, 
Are weirdly patterned as the leaflets flutter: 
The blue flames flicker in the grate, or mutter 

Their mystic words above the oak log's tomb ; 

While quiet reigns, and in the seeming gloom 
True happiness finds chance to think and , utter. 

I glance at many a volume grimed and old, 

Wherein are pictured triumphs ; but a line 
Unwritten there, dark histories could unfold : 
Success, life's rainbow, must with clouds com- 
bine 
To have its grandeur, and if all were told, 
Men might prefer this fireside peace of mine. 
29 



MY WATERFALL. 

Where the woodland vines are bending 

In canopies of green, 
And the locust-trees are blending 

Sweet blossoms in between ; 
Where the coot and cuckoo, calling, 

Their feathers ruff and preen, 
With a gentle, tuneful falling, 

My waterfall is seen. 

With its fresh and sparkling water, 

It comes from far away ; 
It has kissed the blue sky's daughter — 

The cloud of yesterday ; 
It has bathed the drooping grasses, 

And eddied in its play, 
Fretting myriad mimic passes 

In shifting sand and clay. 
30 



MY WATERFALL. 

It has caught the sunbeam arrows 

And flashed them back to me ; 
It has quivered through the narrows, 

And chattered in its glee ; 
And its breath is sweet with sipping 

The wild anemone, 
While the fern and cresses dipping, 

Send greeting to the sea. 

In the midnight and the morning, 

Beneath the maples tall ; 
When the leaves their boughs adorning, 

Await the cold winds' call ; 
When I'm worn with work and weary, 

And shadows cover all, 
For its ripple, restful, cheery, 

I love my waterfall. 



3i 



WILD OATS. 

The youth who sows his wild oats at morn 
And believes their stalks will be scorched half 

grown, 
Forgets they are sheltered by lilies sown 
In his childhood hours ; and will rise to scorn 
And choke the lilies and thrive alone. 



HOME. 

The winter winds may fiercely blow, 
And sweep like wolves across the snow; 
The wings of death may guide the storm, 
But what care I ? My heart is warm, 
And home is home, no matter where, 
If love and hope are centred there. 



32 



THE CYPRIOT SLAVE. 

Low lies the coast of Italy, beyond 
The strait that keeps its sands apart from those 
Wild headlands of Sicilian scar and strand — 
Shores laved by ocean tides and Euxine, where 
In meeting, great Charybdis is their tryst. 
Skies blue, unless enshrouded by dark clouds 
Of vapor from grim ^Etna, where 'tis famed 
A wounded giant, prisoned, vomits fire. 

'Twas here, two hundred years ago, in gyves 
That bound and bruised the tender flesh, a slave 
From far off Cyprus sat. A lovely copse, 
Whose stately elms and oaks around her threw 
Their changing shadows, closed her from the sight 
Of men. Vines clung about the mossy rocks, 
Or round the olive and the sumach boughs ; 
While through the tangle of lush grasses came 
The rumble of the torrent Termini, 
Or now the distant howling of the wolves. 

33 







34 THE CYPRIOT SLAVE. 

The Cypriot slave sat tearless in her chains, 
For tears had long refused to calm her soul. 
At last she rose, and peered across the sea, — 
The waste of water that was binding her 
More fast and cruelly than fetters could. 

And as she mused of home all desolate — 
That Cyprus of her youth, where once she played 
About her mother, or on sunny days 
Stood in the fields and ate the fresh sweet grapes 
Whose fame for wine was known o'er mount and 

dale; 
Or watched the proud Venetian galleys spread 
Their airy sails and sink below the sea ; — 
The lingering color faded from her cheeks, 
As when the twilight glow, upon the pure 
And soft white clouds, fades out and slowly dies. 
A shudder shook the slender frame, that bore 
The rich brown curls across her eyes, and let 
Them fall about her shoulders, like the still 
Fresh laurel leaves amid the winter snow. 
The Cypriot slave sank back upon the ledge 
And threw her purple robe about her feet, 



THE CYPRIOT SLAVE. 



35 



To hide the clanking shackles from her sight. 
Before her on the grass a flagon stood, 
Rich wrought of gold and jewels, and a dish 
Whereon her mistress had choice viands placed. 

Alas, the day that Cosmo's galley came, 
And seized its freight of helpless souls ! Alas 
The beauty that had made her Cosmo's gift 
To Duke Ossuna, lord of Sicily! 
The Duke took pity, and with pity close 
Allied is love. The Duchess saw, and wrath 
And envy fired her haughty breast. By stealth 
She had the Cypriot slave in fetters placed 
Beyond his sight, and ordered poison given. 
The poor girl cared for naught, e'en though it 

were 
From golden bowls her mistress loved and prized. 
She leaned her cheek upon her slender hand — 
A hand great Phidias would have joyed to see. 
And there the snowy doves in lessening gyres 
Descended, as the flakes from heaven fall, 
And flew about upon the green. The girl's 
Heart warmed to see they feared her not, and 
soon 







36 THE CYPRIOT SLAVE. 

The tears traced down her cheeks. The birds 

around 
The gold dish gathered, drinking to their fill, 
And prinked their wings and lifted up their bills 
In gratitude. A moment, and one stopped, 
Then staggered on, and gasping lay before 
Her feet ; a shudder, and the dove was dead. 

Alas for woman's cruelty ! She saw 
The plot ; the part she might have played, had 

been 
Enacted by the quivering dove. She bowed 
And hid her face and wept most bitterly. 
Her eyes were blinded; all her girlish form 
Was trembling as she sobbed. The round, white 

arms, 
Half covered by her hair, were wet with tears. 
Then cloudy ^Etna gloomed the sky, and still 
She sobbed ; the sunlight wove its path across 
The western waste of sea, and darkness came : 
The Cypriot slave wept on amid the doves. 

Then Duke Ossuna through the tangle heard, 
And quick his heart was touched ; he hastened 

through 



THE CYPRIOT SLAVE. 37 

The sumach and the mulberry boughs, and there 
He saw the poisoned flask. His face grew red 
With anger, and anon was calmed in grief. 
"Who does this deed?" he said, and stood before 
Her prostrate form ; then softly added, " Come, 
My child, why cry you so ? " The Cypriot slave 
Looked through her tears and pointed ; well he 

knew 
The cause. The Duke was silent ; then he said : 
"Arouse, my child ; eight days and nights by oar 
And sail, and you once more have liberty 
To roam amid the vineyards of your home." 

Not long, and then there came a noble train 
In gold and purple clad, to bow farewell 
To her, a slave set free ; and no one there 
Was sadder at her going, yet more glad 
To see the stately galley with her sails 
Sun-lit, and dipping banks of oars, sink down 
Beyond the ocean's rim, than that true knight, 
The Duke Ossuna, lord of Sicily. 



THE DEFENCE OF THE ALAMO. 

Santa Anna's men were raiding ! 
Texan liberty seemed fading 
With a tyrant foe invading. 

Travis was the patriot colonel, 
With a bravery supernal 
To make liberty eternal. 

Scarce two hundred men commanding, 

In the convent quickly banding, 

At their head he soon was standing. 

Santa Anna's restless pickets 
Paced amid the thorns and thickets, 
Scanning guns and fortress wickets. 

"Death, no quarter!" fiercely sounded 
38 



THE DEFENCE OF THE ALAMO. 

Hostile bugles full and rounded ; 
Through the village it rebounded. 

Then like tigers came the foemen, 
Brutal hosts restrained by no man, 
Twice repulsed by sturdy yeomen. 

Hand to hand they writhed together, 
Gun to gun and arms in tether, 
Till they singed their helmet leather. 

Then a ghastly cannon, plundered 
Of its rightful booty, thundered 
Till the solid walls were sundered. 

With a frenzied shout men followed 
In the path the cannon hollowed, 
Mind and mercy lost or swallowed. 

Texans fought with desperation, 
Fought for freedom as a nation, 
Dying in their desolation. 



39 



40 



THE DEFENCE OF THE ALAMO. 

Thus the Alamo was taken, 
While that little band forsaken, 
Perished with its ranks unshaken. 

When the glowing sun descended 
All was still ; defence had ended ; 
And the blaze of pyres was blended 

With the moon's pale light, and rumbled 
Echoes came, and o'er the crumbled 
Ashes murmured: " Hushed, not humbled." 



ADELE. 

I. 

'Twas where the cooling breezes of the Mediter- 
ranean meet 

With zephyrs from the great Sahara's suffocating 
heat, 

A young and beardless soldier, clad about with 

red and blue, 
In silence and disheartened, to his quiet beat 

withdrew. 

He sat him down and rested in the gloomy soli- 
tude, 

And there apart he thought and mused where 
no one could intrude. 
41 



4 2 ad£le. 

And the billows from the ocean, and the break- 
ers of the sea, 

Like voices in the wind, kept calling, "Come, 
O come to me ! " 

The restless picket, rising, paced his beat and 

then returned ; 
The words were in his brain and filled his heart; 

his temples burned. 

The cool winds whispered 'mid the roar of sea 

and palm-tree's wail, 
Until the air was filled with murmuring, "Adele, 

Adele." 

The stifling desert's breath kept urging, " Go 

now, leave the land ! 
Go back to France, O heartless youth ! Return 

to win her hand ! " 

The new-born sun had kissed his pallid cheeks 
and lips, so pale ; 



ADELE. 43 

The picket woke and whispered, "Is it you, my 
own Adele?" 



A mockery his dream had been, 'twas not his 

sunny France ; 
'Twas rugged rocks instead of vines, a lonely, 

broad expanse. 



II. 



Where breezes of the Mediterranean fan the 

vine-clad hills, 
And rock the leaves to sleep, or ripple o'er the 

babbling rills, 

A young and sad-faced soldier, clad about with 

red and blue, 
Was standing by the bedside of a maiden fair 

and true. 

"Adele is dead; you came too late!" the picket 
stood and wept ; 



44 ad£le. 

He gazed upon the calm sweet face ; he thought 
she only slept. 

Her cheeks were red as sunset, lips so lifelike, 

he could kiss ; 
"She is not dead," he cried, "she is alive, she 

surely is ! " 

All night he held the soft white hands, and 

watched the girlish face ; 
He kneeling, prayed to God for help, for mercy 

through His grace. 

The sunlight, like an angel, came and lit his 

troubled brow ; 
An answer to his prayer, he thought, but still 

he knew not how. 

The soft white fingers warmed within the sol- 
dier's brawny hand ; 

The blue eyes opened, red lips quivered — did 
he understand? 






ADELE. 45 

A smile was on the rosy cheeks ; he leaned upon 

the bed ; 
"Adieu, my love!" the pale lips whispered, and 

Adele was dead. 



Ill 



A young yet haggard soldier, clad about with 
red and blue, 

Stood looking seaward where the cool, refresh- 
ing breezes blew, 

And on that barren shore where naught is heard 
but pickets' tread, 

With lonely heart and softened, the manly sol- 
dier said : 

"My lovely France, its hills and dales, my God 

to me has given ; 
I'll win renown and die for France, and wed 

Adele in heaven ! " 



A STORY OF THE PENINSULAR WAR. 

Loudly blew the bugle note, 
As the soldiers, to their throat 

In the water 

And the slaughter, 
Struggled for the shore remote. 

Hoarsely groaned the rolling drum, 
With the bullet's busy hum ; 

And its beating 

Meant retreating 
For the British overcome. 

Mid the powder and the lead, 
Mid the wounded and the dead, 

Strove they faster, 

While disaster 
And destruction onward sped. 
46 



s*— 



A STORY OF THE PENINSULAR WAR. 

From the bank the Frenchmen shot 
At the fleeing, minding not 

In the battle 

And the rattle 
That their guns grew bursting hot. 

But the British crossed at last, 
And all dripping downward cast 

Rod and rifle, 

And a trifle 
Seemed the chasm they had passed. 

With a stream between, the cheers 
Of Napoleon's grenadiers 

Were as jesting, 

Which the resting 
British soon would turn to tears. 

Then upon the hostile bank 
Stood a woman, and she shrank, 

Overtaken 

And forsaken, 
From the Frenchman's fatal rank. 



47 



4 8 A STORY OF THE PENINSULAR WAR. 

She a Briton, hooted at ! 

Cook or servant — what of that? 

In a second 

As she beckoned 
Not a soldier longer sat. 

Weak and wan the woman stood, 
And imploring as she could, 
She besought them, 
And it wrought them 
Into stirring hardihood. 

From the line a rider sprang, 
And the air with cheering rang ; 

And were centred 

As he entered 
All the cannon smoke and clang. 

Brave he buffeted the flood 

Which was tinged with crimson blood ; 

And with wonder, 

In the thunder 
Frenchmen saw mid mire and mud, 



A STORY OF THE PENINSULAR WAR. 49 

Saw him grasp the woman there, 
Swing her quickly and with care 

Up before him ; 

Saw break o'er him 
Angry waters everywhere. 

When they found a foeman brave 
Perilled life, a life to save, , 

Rifles lowered 

And they poured 
Forth huzzaing wave on wave ; 

And Napoleon's grenadiers 

Vied with Britons in their cheers, 

As the rider, 

Firm beside her, 
Proudly dried the woman's tears. 






CODRUS OF ATHENS. 

Where shepherds sing their rustic, homely airs, 

And follow with their flocks, or fall asleep 
In forest groves to dream away their cares ; 

Where long, lone valleys like the hollowed deep 
Stretch miles and miles, and scanty sedges 
spring, 
And stunted beeches dot the mountain steep ; 



O'er crevice in the rock where censers swing, 

And Parian marble pillars grand protect 
Apollo's maidens as they work and sing, 



The priestess on her tripod sat. There decked 

In laurel leaves, with flushing cheeks, 
And body by Castalian waters flecked, 

5° 



CODRUS OF ATHENS. 51 

She filled the temple with her frenzied shrieks ; 

Her fair lips quivered, as with flashing eye 
She rose and gave this message to the Greeks : 



If Athens triumph, Athens* king must die. 

By one who ran from dawn till eve of day 
The sad news spread, and then each passer-by 

In Attica was pale with dread dismay, 

For noble Codrus, bravest of the brave, 
Was king and led Athenians to the fray. 

Alone the ruler mused ; he could but crave 

His end ; the very silence of his hall 
Exclaimed, "Go, king, for Athens seek your 
grave ! " 

With sad heart Codrus viewed the city wall, 
The towers that he had learned to love, and 
then 
Her many massive temples, chaste and tall. 



52 



CODRUS OF ATHENS. 



Disguised in common clothes, and slow, as when 

One looks at what he is to see no more, 
King Codrus passed unknown beyond his men ; 

And weary, to the Dorian camp he bore 

Himself, and there in fierce dispute engaged, 
He struck a Dorian soldier; then before 

He could defend himself, his foe enraged, 

Rushed at his royal victim, beat and slew 
The stranger ere his wrath could be assuaged. 

What horror then ! They looked and well they 
knew 
The face, the lifeless form. " The oracle ! " 
They cried, and soon from Attica withdrew. 

And when the news was spread, how Codrus 
fell 
And died for Athens, all the Greeks agreed 
No man in Attica had ruled so well; 



CODRUS OF ATHENS. 

And all the nobles to a man, decreed 

There was none good enough to follow him, 
And no one should to Codrus' crown succeed. 



53 



WARRIORS OF THE SOUDAN. 

A noble square 
Is marshalled there 

Upon the desert's burning sand ; 

At king's command 

No artist's hand 
E'er painted scene that could compare. 

The desert dry, 
With cloudless sky 

And murky air, is in a dream ; 

The sand-hills seem 

A cooling stream 
For which the thirsty camels cry. 

A rustle, hark! 

The dust clouds mark 

The coming of an enemy; 
54 






WARRIORS OF THE SOUDAN. 

The soldiers see 
Most eagerly 
The dusky forms and features dark. 

Without a swerve, 
With steady nerve, 

The savage warriors onward come ; 

No sound of drum, 

Nor bullet's hum, 
The swarthy lines a moment curve, 

Each gray haired sheik, 
As brave as Greek 

Or Roman, holds his banner high ; 

With psalm-book nigh, 

Prepared to die, 
He chants his prayers with cadence meek. 

What courage now ! 
The volleys, how 

From horse and infantry are played ! 



55 



56 WARRIORS OF THE SOUDAN. 

The columns fade, 
While mounds are made 
Of mangled men, as whole lines bow. 



A Briton here 
By poisoned spear 

Sinks slowly to the parching sand ; 

Without a hand 

To bind a band, 
He sees his life-blood disappear. 

Black warriors bare 
Leap through the air 

And stand before the very guns ; 

The crimson runs 

From sire and sons — 
Grim heroes in their deep despair. 

A white-haired form 
Amid the storm 

Upon his camel dashes in ; 



WARRIORS OF THE SOUDAN. 57 

Amid the din 
About the thin 
Disordered lines the warriors swarm. 



A moment there, 

With flowing hair, 

Upon the desert's crimson sands, 
With out-stretched hands ' 
The proud sheik stands 

Within the broken English square. 

'Tis no avail 
That blacks assail 

Their deadly foes again, again ; 

The Englishmen 

Are victors ; then 
The warriors in their courage fail. 

You know the story, 
How the gory 

Battle raged that summer's day; 



58 WARRIORS OF THE SOUDAN. 

How they lay — 
Thousands lay — 
White and black both crowned with glory. 



When history tells 
Of generals 

And soldiers brave of every race, 

Give those a place, — 

The dark of face 
Who fought at Abu Klea Wells. 



A REVERY. 

Night hung so still upon her out-stretched wings, 
The very silence of the distant spheres 
Seemed scorn of me ; I saw the shuttled years 

Weave out again the endless sufferings 

Of burdened souls ; I saw in orbit rings 

Vast globes move on among their mighty peers, 
And said : " What care have these for mortal 
tears ? 

What power has life crushed down by lifeless 
things ? " 

The moon rose up beneath the maples red, 
And sent a glow of light along the glen ; 
A thrush broke out in joyous song that sped 
Through all the wood in melody, and then 
A voice unbound my fettered heart and said : 
"The spheres are naught compared with living 
men ! " 

59 



RECREATION. 

In the afternoon of a summer's day, 
When streets are thronged and life is gay, 
I love to watch the sun go down 
Beyond the smoke of the busy town. 

On the distant bridge against the sky 
A line of pygmy men pass by ; 
Some slow, some fast, as ants will go 
Across the wheat-field to and fro. 
Upon the waves the sunlight flits, 
And back and forth the topmast knits 
Its shadow image through the bars 
Of phantom girders, leaving stars 
Of light to sparkle in the way. 

With measured ring the hammers play 
About the steel-ribbed, infant ship ; 
While in the offing schooners dip 
To catch the foam upon their bows. 
60 



■ __. 



RECREATION. 6 r 

And now, with shaggy beard and brows 
The hearty fisher, yonder, moves 
The creaking reel upon its grooves, 
And as it joggles round and round, 
The dripping net is spread and wound 
Upon its arms. 

Naught here destroys 
The dreamy scene. With easy, poise 
Upon the drowsy, listless stream 
A steamship lies ; her funnels gleam ; 
And wreaths of cold, gray smoke ascend 
To tinge the sky and break and blend. 
The shadows creep apace ; the sun 
Goes down; the beacons one by one 
Flash out along the sinuous shore, 
And night is queen of earth once more. 



SUNSET. 

A cloudless, silent sunset, cold, 
Is not the sunset I would choose; 

Without the crimson and the gold, 
Its grandest beauty it must lose. 

An aimless, unaggressive life, 
Is not the life that I admire; 

Without the struggle and the strife, 

'Tis naught but clay — it lacks the fire ! 



62 



PRINCE VICTOR OF ITALY. 

Viva V Italia came from every side, 
As dipped the ship to meet the brimming tide ; 
The cannon roared their Cyclopean cheers, 
And ocean clasped its child with mother tears, 
While all the flags bespoke a country's pride. 

Young Victor, curly-haired and azure-eyed, 
Stood by Queen Margherita, and defied 

The din, as came that sentence to his ears : 
Viva V Italia. 

The boyish face looked in the muzzle wide, 
Of one great cannon, hundred-tonned, and cried 
With treble voice those words each man re- 
veres ; 
The gloomy, deep-toned fiend, as one who 
hears 
The sweet-faced heir of Italy, replied : 

Viva V Italia. 
63 



MORNING GLORIES. 

Little children of the sun, 
Joying in the day begun ; 
Swaying in its amber beams, 
Laughing as the sunlight streams ; 
Then before the day is done, 
Sweetly sleeping every one ; 
Smiling still in fairy dreams, 
Till the morning brightly gleams, 
Little children of the sun ! 

Drowsy little morning glory, 
Tell to me your dreamy story ; 
Of the whispering zephyrs fairy ; 
Why with thee they never tarry; 
What they say of winter hoary; 
What of autumn transitory ; 
Prithee, tell me of the airy 
Breezes, and the tales they carry, 
Drowsy little morning glory ! 
64 






JUGURTHA DYING. 

Aye ! thy dungeon, Rome, is gloomy, 

Parted from patrician scum ; 
How the cold is creeping through me ; 

How my feet and hands grow numb ! 
Would this damp and mossy wall were 

Farther from the Tiber's wave ; 
Would these massive columns all were 

For a more imposing grave ! 

Marius, Sulla, ye are victors, 

But to serve the rabble will ; 
Men, I scorn ye ! when the lictor's 

Axe its duty shall fulfill, 
Though Jugurtha will be dying 

In these walls of Mamertine, 
Hate will live, and still defying, 

Fire men's souls as it has mine ! 
65 



66 JUGURTHA DYING. 

List ye, Romans ! Leave unburied 

These few ashes I bequeath ; 
Let me wander, still unferried 

Over stagnant Styx, and breathe 
Fire and blood in every portal, 

Viper sting in every part ; 
O that ye were one, and mortal, 

With my dagger through your heart ! 

Traitor Bocchus, would I saw you 

In my dismal dungeon now ! 
May Gaetulian vultures gnaw you; 

Like Albinus may you bow : 
Shade of Cossus and ^Eneas ! 

See ! by Mars, a pretty view, 
Romans 'neath the yoke ; Rome see us 

Herd thy cattle-legions through ! 

Gods, how cold ! my limbs are quailing 
Pollux ! what a bath is here ; 

Gold for votes was never failing, 
But this luxury is dear: 



JUGURTHA DYING. 67 

Tribune Memmius, thou art lonely 

In this city bought and sold ; 
Wretched people ! Memmius only 

Represents the Rome of old. 

O Numidia, how I love thee ! 

Would I were unbound again ; 
Saddleless, with sky above me, 

Dashing on before my men; 
Many miles of maddest riding, 

With the pale moon for my light ; 
Through the thicket softly gliding, 

Then the charge at dead of night ! 

Nay — I wish no food nor sleeping ; 

Six long days have left me here ; 
Many hours my children weeping, 

Wait and hope I will appear; 
And the Tiber six days waking, 

Stretches downward to the sea; 
Twice three times, the sunlight breaking, 

Gilds the temples over me. 



68 JUGURTHA DYING. 

Death, I feel thee, feel thee nearer, 

Chilling now my very heart ! 
Rome, thou mask of shame, severer 

Foe one day shall make thee smart : 
City, bound by one desire, 

Soon to perish, if device 
Can but find for thee a buyer, 

And agree upon the price ! 

Sol is kissing drowsy Tiber, 

And descending in the west ; 
Gods! I'm chilled in every fibre — 

Going naked to my rest ! 
Wretched Senate, unrepenting 

I have fought and bribed and bled ; 
Still I hate thee, unrelenting — 

Rome, I'm fainting — dying — dead! 



ON A PICTURE. 

In the wide, wide world there is naught so dear 
As the happy heart of a noble girl ; 
Not a gift so great has a belted earl 

As the wide, wide world in its homes each year : 

O'er the fragrant meadows the bees make cheer 
In the velvet petals of tinted pearl, 
Till the spotless folds of the frost unfurl — 

But they all give way to a more than peer. 

Could a Christmas offering be received, 

That would give more joy than a girlish face? 

If these lines be slow and but poorly weaved, 
'Tis that heartfelt gratitude hinders grace, 

That a friend has paused from her tasks achieved 
To remember one in a far-off place. 



69 



MY FATES. 

[Suggested by a poem of Schiller.] 

Ho, my sister, steady, steady ! 
Seems I see your hand already 
Tremble with those gleaming shears, 
Ere they reach a score of years ; — 
There ! 'tis better, Lachesis. 
And you, Clotho, do not miss 
Spinning out that precious thread 
With a steady hand and head ! 
I will string it full of roses 
Red and white : if she disposes 
To be hasty with her shears, 
May the perfume, like the spheres, 
Circle round her and confound her, 
And its blushing breath enrapture, 
And my ruse a respite capture 
From your sister Lachesis ! 
70 



MY FATES. 

Clotho, dearest, when it is 
Time to cut that fatal thread, 
Pass the roses, white and red ; 
Joys are rare at most on earth ; 
Earth is better for its mirth ; 
Pass the roses rich, I pray, 
And where thread is barest, stay ; 
Rouse your sister and prepare 
To unloose me from all care. 



7i 



THE BERKSHIRE HILLS. 

The yellow leaves lie scattered 
In the rock-bound grasses, 

Growing sere, 

Where the pilgrim year 
Drops loving kisses as he passes. 

The elms and birches tattered, 
Throw their sun-rent tracing 

On the hills; 

Over blue-faced rills 
White-winged through rocky canons racing. 

The golden-rod and sumach 
Glow with splendor, shading 

Grass-knit pools, 

Where the herdsman cools 
His weary kine as day is fading. 
72 



THE BERKSHIRE HILLS. 

The happy bird-note echoes 

Fill the woods with mellow sallies, 

Where the blue 

Agawam winds through 
The cheerful Berkshire hills and valleys. 



73 



TIME'S DARLING IS DEAD. 

From out of the crystal snow, 
A year ago, 

The angels made her; 
And the sentinel stars of night 
Gave his blue-eyed darling light ; 
Then they fashioned a pure white gown 
From the pale moon's storm-made crown ; 
And they circled her waist amain 
With the wisp of a comet's train. 

From out of the eastern gray 
Of a new-born day 

They took a strand ; 
And they bound the silver line 
With a ray of the sun's decline ; 
And they wove them well in a loom, 
The threads of hope and of doom. 
74 



TIME'S DARLING IS DEAD. 

Then down from the gates above, 

A bit to love, 

She came to his hand ; 
But the crimson and silver were one, 
And his hopes as a day of the sun. 
The clouds in their sorrow may weep, 
While the stars no more vigilance keep, 
As they search on planet and sphere 
For his darling, the dying year; 
But they wearily wander in vain, 
To restore the living again ; 
For under the crystal snow 

A night ago, 

The angels laid her. 



75 



WOMANHOOD. 

Though the painter work in his grandest mood, 
With a master's hand to portray the face 
That is pictured deep in the inmost place 

Of his mighty soul ; though the painter should 

In the faultless cunning of art make good 
The soft tint of life in each subtle trace 
Of his brush ; no skill can borrow the grace 

Of the winsome beauty of womanhood. 

Through all ages virtue has been the pride 
And the prize that maidens are watchful of; 

And the form more fair than all else beside, 
With the purity of a spotless dove, 

Is the only form in the whole world wide 
That can wake and win an undying love. 



76 



A BIRTHDAY ODE. 

O who can teach us we are young 
Though white hairs sprinkle in among 
The strands of brown! There is no eld; 
Eyes never lose the light that held 
A maiden's heart when strength was whole ; 
The child, the trembling man whose soul 
Is but a child's, both eagerly 
The same wide wonders ever see. 

The greatest joy gray hairs can win 
Is memory ; to revel in 
Sweet pictures of the years that live 
Anew in what their blessings give. 
What hours were those at close of day! 
To saunter up the path of clay, 
New-creviced by the fallen rain ; 
To gaze skyward until the brain 
Seems lost in boundless vision. No, 
77 



78 A BIRTHDAY ODE. 

God would not have us always grow 
Among our fellows, else why has 
He made us single ? Often as 
We walk, a blessed friend is this 
Strange solitude, so simple is, 
And yet so full of restful thought 
And feeling. 

How familiar aught 
Of childhood scenes ! the pasture brook ; 
The storm-stained oak ; some quiet nook, 
Where man may lie and there receive 
The breath of flowers, and more believe 
Life worth the living. Then at night 
To sit before the wide hearth's light, 
And spend the hours in retrospect ; 
To see once more the forks direct 
The new-mown hay aloft ; to climb 
About the rafters, black with time, 
Where lime-built homes of wasp abound, 
And spiders' musty webs are found. 

To live again the days of school, 
And half recall some hard learned rule 



A BIRTHDAY ODE. 

Whose very rhythmic rote unfolds 
A thousand smiles and tears and scolds ; 
To see your first love's face again, 
To write her name with stealthy pen 
Upon your slate, and looking, blush 
And feel discovered in the hush. 
Boy love and trust are sweeter than 
All after joys that come to man. • 

Young life is strange ; who can foresee 
Which leaf will have true symmetry ? 
Of children which will prove the man ? 
Lean not on chance or human plan, 
There is a spirit in the blood ; 
No rose can bloom without a bud, 
And of two buds which has a blight, 
And which will blow and bloom aright? 
We can but work and do our best, 
The unknown spirit does the rest. 
1886. 



79 



THE SCULPTOR. 

The sculptor saw before his earnest gaze 
A form that earth had made supremely fair ; 
A gentle brow, half hid by locks of hair; 

Eyes calm, yet changing in unwonted ways, 

And lips, thin-curved, beneath which lay a maze 
Of opal veins. The sculptor could but dare 
To trace the outer form that met him there ; 

Man's soul must see the beauty life displays. 

As some worn keepsake, long before made dear, 
Brings back a flood of memories of old, 
So all these outer forms must come to hold 

Their worth for greater things they make appear ; 
This world is fair but while it can unfold 

Our hearts to nobler thought and living here. 



80 



BY THE SEA. 

Like a listless child that wanders away, away, 
With a smile where the last sweet kiss of his 

mother lay, 
Comes the salt sea wind at the twilight hour 

of day, 
And I feel it just from the lips of the ocean 

spray. 



A THREE-LEAF CLOVER. 

O sisters three, in shady nook, 

For friends you have the flowers and trees ; 
The four-leaf pressed in mouldy book, 

With all its favors has not these. 



81 



NATURE. 

O Nature, varied as the sea, 
In color, shape, thou art ; 

Yet changeless to eternity 
In purpose and in heart. 



OPPORTUNITY. 

The youth who sleeps with time on his hands, 
And longs for life in a noiser clime, 
Will strive one day to lay hands upon time, 

And restrain the flow of its numbered sands. 



82 



POEMS 



SARAH KNOWLES BOLTON. 






TO 

C. K. B, 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

A Picture 7 

A Bit of Blue Sky 9 

Together 11 

A Theme 13 

That depends 15 

The Human Harp 17 

Golden Rod 18 

God keeps His Own 20 

to be remembered 21 

Receiving as we gtve 23 

One Face 25 

The Blessings ..." 26 

James A. Garfield 28 

On the Heights 31 

Blinded 33 

The Afterglow 34 

Blue Violets ......... 36 

5 



6 CONTENTS. 

Pagb 

The Last Message 37 

The Song of the Waterfall 39 

The Poor and the Rich 41 

Look up, my Boy 43 

Our Tree 44 

Sunset at Abo, Finland . . . . . 46 

United 48 

The Bridal 50 

An Angel here 52 

A Gotland Legend 54 

The Full Moon .57 

Her Smile 59 

The Gift of a Day 61 



A PICTURE. 

A day in June; a scholar at his books, 

Whose name the world has echoed far and wide; 

A tinge of sadness in a face that looks 
As though unsatisfied. 

A day in June ; a fair and girlish face, 
Fresh as the roses which she sits among, 

Bending, half listless, o'er a bit of lace, 
With all life's song unsung. 

A day in June ; rich with its wealth of bloom, 
So full of God, one scarce need look above : 

Two sit together hi the scholar's room, 
And life is only love. 

Her cheerful voice is music to his ear ; 

Touch more than magic has her gentle hand ; 

Her sunny, restful presence brings Heaven near; 

Her love makes earth more grand. 
***** 



8 A PICTURE. 

A day in June ; the roses withered lie ; 

A painful stillness o'er the room has grown; 
There is no charm in earth or air or sky : 

The scholar sits alone. 



A BIT OF BLUE SKY. 

The clouds trooped by on a summer's day; 
Some stormy and black, some white and gray; 
And some were billowed like Alpine snow, 
With flush of gold like the sunset glow. 

And now a city with dome and tower 
Arose and vanished by unseen power; 
And here a vision of armed men, 
And there the quiet of wood and glen. 

But fair and often there glimmered through, 
This changing picture, a bit of blue, 
With color rich as the sapphire gate 
In the City of Pearl where angels wait. 

O marvellous tint from heavenly hand ! 
More bright than golden or crimson band ! 

9 



10 A BIT OF BLUE SKY. 

A glimpse of beautiful worlds untrod, 
Of elysian fields in the home of God. 

Ah ! life is changeful as summer clouds ; 
Some black for mourning, some white for shrouds; 
Yet tenderly, often God's face shines through 
The stormy sky, like a bit of blue. 



TOGETHER. 

Do you remember how we climbed the Rigi 

And looked upon Lucerne ? 
How glorious the snow-capped Alpine mountains 

At sunset seemed to burn ? 

How, hand-in-hand, we roamed the German forests 

Or streets of ancient Prague ? 
Now praying in some dim and vast cathedral, 

Now loitering at the Hague? 

Those days of autumn in historic Holland 

Were sweet to you and me, 
As on the dunes of Scheveningen we lingered 

Or sailed the Zuyder Zee. 

Those days come back so full of youth and beauty, 

They seem but yesterday ; 
And we shall journey there again together — 

But not the same old way. 
ii 



12 TOGETHER. 

One will be there in truth, and one in spirit, 

But hand-in-hand no more ; 
For one, alas, will sail another ocean, 

And reach another shore. 



A THEME. 

"What shall I write," the poet asked, 

"To live beyond to-morrow? 
A plaintive air, or carol fair; 

Shall it be joy or sorrow? 

"Shall it be Nature's eulogy, 

Or art in polished measure ? 
Shall it be lays of Grecian days, 

Or Oriental treasure?" 

He that would live must write for man y 
Whom God has made his brother; 

Not equal place for all the race, 
But help for one another. 

Write with his blood, till want and wrong 
Are bound in darkest prison ; 

Till hope and cheer shall banish fear, 
And show the Master risen, 

13 



14 A THEME. 

And pouring into wounded hearts 
His sure and precious healing ; 

Who labors for another's need 
Has felt the sweet revealing 

Of Deity to finite man ; 

God to his weakest creatures ; 
Heaven is but love, and saints above 

To saints below are teachers. 

The hovel must give place to home, 
And hope to tiresome toiling; 

And gentle hands weave silken bands, 
Nor fear their garments soiling. 

There must be time for thought and cheer, 
For rest while days are fleeting; 

Time for a look at Nature's book, 
Time for a kindly greeting. 

Not for himself, but for his kind, — 
Who thus for man is singing, 

Shall poet be eternally, 

The Christ-millennium bringing. 









THAT DEPENDS. 

" She is older far," you say, 
"Than the man she weds to-day; 

"He will tire of fading cheek, 
Whitening hair, and body weak ; 

"Long for youth, and girlish grace 
Love another in her place." 

That depends ! If soul to soul 
Wedded be, as parts of whole ; 

If her mind has depths for him, 
Filled with knowledge to the brim; 

If her heart has held him fast 
In the leashes of the past, 

Making perfect peace and rest ; 
Satisfied with love's behest ; 

15 



l6 THAT DEPENDS. 

Two in one, like polar star, 
Nothing can their future mar. 

Love holds not by voice or eye, 
Silken hair, or lips that vie 

With the roses ; love, complete, 
Must be Godlike, strong, and sweet. 

Love knows neither age nor time, 
Pure, all-healing, and sublime. 



THE HUMAN HARP. 

I said, "Now I will play a song, 
No matter whether brief or long, 
So it be blithe, and light, and gay, 
Fit only for a summer's day." 
But no one cared to hear or see ; 
It did not touch humanity. 

I said, " Give me a deeper strain, 

E'en though it must have birth in pain." 

The tempests came, and harp-strings broke ; 

But sweeter music from them woke. 

I learned to suffer and be strong, 

And yet to keep a cheerful song. 

I learned the drift of human needs; 
The worth of high and holy deeds ; 
That only noble hearts which break, 
Can suffer for another's sake. 
He only sings for coming years 
Who mixes, with his gladness, tears. 
17 



GOLDEN ROD. 

O golden rod ! sweet golden rod ! 

Bride of the autumn sun ; 
Has he kissed thy blossoms this mellow morn, 

And tinged them one by one ? 

Did the crickets sing at thy christening, 

When, in his warm embrace, 
He gave thee love from his brimming cup, 

And beauty, cheer, and grace? 

He brightens the asters, but soon they fade; 

He reddens the sumach tree ; 
The clematis loses its snowy bloom, 

But he's true as truth to thee. 

Scattered on mountain top or plain, 

Unseen by human eye, 
He turns thy fringes to burnished gold 

By love's sweet alchemy. 
18 



GOLDEN ROD. 1 9 

And then, when the chill November comes, 
And the flowers their work have done, 

Thou art still unchanged, dear golden rod, 
Bride of the autumn sun! 






GOD KEEPS HIS OWN. 

I do not know whether my future lies 

Through calm or storm ; 
Whether the way is strewn with broken ties, 

Or friendships warm. 

This much I know : Whate'er the pathway trod, 

All else unknown, 
I shall be guided safely on, for God 

Will keep His own. 

Clouds may obscure the sky, and drenching rain 

Wear channels deep ; 
And haggard want, with all her bitter train, 

Make angels weep. 

And those I love the best, beneath the sod 

May sleep alone ; 
But through it all I shall be led, for God 

Will keep His own. 
20 



TO BE REMEMBERED. 

There's a year to be remembered 

When your eyes first looked in mine, 
And I felt my heart outreaching, 

Like the tendrils of a vine. 
Then the world grew full of sunshine, 

And the Heaven above seemed near ; 
And I hoped with words unspoken — 

Need I tell you, love, the year ? 

There's a day to be remembered 

When your lips were pressed to mine, 
And I felt my pulses beating 

To a measure half divine : 
It was bliss to lean upon you 

Like a child who, tired with play, 
Nestles closely to its mother — 

Need I tell you, love, the day ? 



22 TO BE REMEMBERED. 

There's an hour to be remembered 

When your soul was pledged to mine, 
And a perfect satisfaction 

Seemed my being to enshrine. 
Love was life, and life was loving ; 

Rich was autumn leaf and flower : 
Two as one, henceforth, forever — 

Need I tell you, love, the hour? 



RECEIVING AS WE GIVE. 

I watched a mother lead her child; 
She grew impatient at his play, 
And chided him with long delay : 

The boy looked up, at first, and smiled ; 

But seeing on her brow a frown, 
His lips grew set, and on his face, 
So full before of childish grace, 

A cloud, like twilight, settled down. 

"I hate you," said the baby voice, 
And struck the hand, and ran away; 
There was no pleasure in his play. 

O thoughtless mother! yours the choke 

To rear a saint, or spoil a soul ; 
To grow a garden full of weeds, 
Or roses, from the kind of seeds 

You plant. Your child, in your control 
23 



24 RECEIVING AS WE GIVE. 

Is mirror-like : love answers love ; 

A smile brings back a smile, and wrath 
Leaves only ashes in the path 

Of life below, and life above. 



ONE FACE. 

One face looks up from every page, 
From snowy cloud or tranquil sea ; 

One face that can all woes assuage, 
Dearer than all the world to me. 

The eyes are mild, the brow is fair; 

The voice is sweet as song of bird : 
How oft my hand upon the hair 

Has rested, with no spoken word. 

The years will come and go again ; 

Their joys and sorrows they will trace 
On lip, and brow, and busy brain ; 

And heaven will hold that one dear face. 



25 



THE BLESSINGS. 

An angel came from the courts of gold, 
With gifts and tidings manifold ; 

With blessings many, to crown the one 
Whose work of life was the noblest done. 

He came to a rich man's gilded door; 
Where a beautiful lady stood before 

His vision, fair as the saints are fair, 
With smile as sweet as the seraphs wear. 

He needed not to be told her life, — 
The pure young mother, the tender wife ; 

He needed not to be told that she, 
In homes of sorrow and poverty, 

Was giving wealth with a lavish hand: 
He thought her worthy in heaven to stand. 
26 



THE BLESSINGS. 2J 

" No ! no ! " a voice to the angel heart 
Spoke low: "seek on in the busy mart." 

He found a door that was worn and old ; 
The. night was damp, and the wind was cold. 

A pale-faced girl at her sewing bent ; 
The midnight lamp to her features lent 

A paler look, as she toiled the while, 
But yet the mouth had a restful smile. 

Doing her duty, with honest pride ; 
Breasting temptation on every side. 

"For her the blessings," the angel said, 
And touched with pity the girlish head. 

"No time nor money for alms has she, 
But duty is higher than charity." 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

Soldier, statesman, scholar, friend, 
Brother to the lowliest one, 

Life has come to sudden end, 
But its work is grandly done. 

Toil and cares of state are o'er; 

Pain and struggle come no more ; 
Rest thee by Lake Erie. 

Nations weep about thy bier, 

Flowers are sent by queenly hands ; 

Bring the poor their homage here, 
Come the great from many lands. 

Be thy grave our Mecca, hence, 

With its speechless eloquence, 
Rest thee by Lake Erie. 

Winter snows will wrap thy mound, 
Spring will send its bud and bloom, 

28 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 29 

Summer kiss the velvet ground, 

Autumn leaves lie on thy tomb : 
Home, beside this inland sea, 
Where thou lov'dst in life to be, 
Rest thee by Lake Erie. 

Strong for right, in danger brave, 
Tender as with woman's heart, 

Champion of the fettered slave, 
Of the people's life a part. 

To be loved is highest fame ; 

Garfield, an immortal name ! 
Rest thee by Lake Erie. 

All thy gifted words shall be 

Treasured speech from age to age ; 

Thy heroic loyalty 

Be a country's heritage. 

Mentor and thy precious ties 

Sacred in the nation's eyes ; 
Rest thee by Lake Erie. 



30 JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

From thy life and death shall come 
An ennobled, purer race, 

Honoring labor, wife, and home, 
More of cheer and Christian grace. 

Kindest, truest, till that day 

When He rolls the stone away, 
Rest thee by Lake Erie. 



ON THE HEIGHTS. 

Low the clouds hang o'er the valley, 
And the autumn breezes dally 

With the leaves; 
And the mist on yonder mountain, 
Like the spray from distant fountain, 

On me breathes 

Cold and dismal ; and the chilling 
Creeps into my heart, unwilling 

Though it be; 
Life itself grows damp and dreary 
Like the landscape ; nothing cheery ■ 

Comes to me. 

All at once my sight is lifted 
To the mountain-top, and rifted 

Seem the skies : 
Sunlight breaks upon my vision, 
And the hill-top grows elysian 

To my eyes. 
31 



32 ON THE HEIGHTS. 

Then I learn anew God's teaching, 
Through all days of sorrow reaching, 

And the nights : 
Look beyond, and cease repining, 
For the sun is always sinning 

On the heights. 



BLINDED. 

She lay like a rose-leaf on his cup ; 
He scarcely knew she was there at all, 
Until, like the leaves of early fall, 

For their precious hue, she was gathered up. 

He knew too late that the flower was gone; 
No fragrance left in the cup for him : 
Alas ! that he did not clasp the brim 

With tender hands, in the early dawn 

Of love, and save to himself the leaf. 
To own is often to lose the prize : 
We stumble along with blinded eyes, 

And wake to losses and bitter grief. 



33 



THE AFTERGLOW. 

The clouds were crimson in the west, 

And flecked the blue with pink and gold ; 

And Nature closed her eyes to rest, 
Proud of her beauties manifold. 

And then night shut the gates of day ; 

Shut out the light from hill and dell ; 
And darkness settled on the bay, 

And settled on my heart as well. 

When lo ! the west grew red again, 

With tender sunlight overflow ; 
And mantled every hill and plain 

With the sweet, dreamy afterglow. 

And joy came back; that peaceful thought 

That fills the soul at soft twilight ; 
That hour when God from chaos wrought 
The miracle of day and night. 

***** 
34 



THE AFTERGLOW. 35 

A friend, a rare and royal one, 
Who seemed too beautiful to die, 

Went down in glory, like the sun ; 
Then darkness covered earth and sky. 

The stars came out, but not for me ; 

There was no fragrance in the breeze ; 
The moon shone, but he could not see 

Its silver light on flowers and trees. 

But then, sweet words came thronging back 
Upon my mind ; " He was, and is : 

The angels keep a shining track 
Between us by their ministries," 

I said, and felt the sacred touch 
Of hand to hand, and lip to lip; 

There must be joy indeed for such 
As from the fount of life can sip. 

I am content ; the mellow light 

Of days gone by will overflow 
My heart ; the sun may fade from sight, 

But memory is the afterglow. 



BLUE VIOLETS. 

You gave them in my hand to hold, 
And never till that hand grows cold, 
Under the grasses of the wold, 

Will I forget the giver : 
Oh! fragrant flowers of dainty blue, 
Oft shall I search in heaven for you, 
And find you, kissed by pearly dew, 

Along the crystal river. 

I shall remember then, as now, 
The kindling eye and noble brow, 
And ask, as by the throne I bow, 

God's blessing on the giver : 
Earth has no sweeter gift to bring ; 
Soul makes to soul its offering 
In flowers that shall unfading spring 

Along the crystal river. 



36 



THE LAST MESSAGE. 

I said to a mother of noble birth, 

"What would you tell to your darling son, 

If time were measured for you on earth, 

And the sands in the hour-glass, nearly run ? " 

A shadow darkened the sunny face, 

As she mused on the parting sure to come ; 

The smile with its witching and tender grace 
Died out, and the soft, sweet voice grew dumb. 

And then, as she thought on the thousand, things 
That wrestle for speech in the dying hour, 

When we long to bear as on angel's wings 
The life of our life — the richest dower 

God gives to woman — she slowly said, 

" My words would be simple and plain and few : 

'Remember, my boy, when I am dead, 
To keep your faith that the world is true.' 

37 



38 THE LAST MESSAGE. 

" I would have him trust in his fellow-men, 
For trust is the sweetest of human needs : 

And hope, like the Star of Bethlehem ; 

And ' Love one another/ the best of creeds. 

" I would have him honest, and brave, and pure ; 

Living a life that he would not rue : 
But whether in sorrow, or joy, be sure 

To keep his faith that the world is true." 



THE SONG OF THE WATERFALL. 

In a quiet spot, not far away, 
Where in silent mood I often stray 
To muse and rest, is a waterfall 
Flowing over a garden wall. 

And this is the song it sings to me : 
"True, true to eternity." 

Sometimes I come in the winter snow, 
When the icicles hang like coral row, 
Shaped and chiselled by kingly hand, 
Greater than any magician's wand : 

And then, as ever, it sings to me : . 
" Pure, pure to eternity." 

Sometimes when meadows are fair to see 
And the sweet wind-flower, anemone, 
Is nestling under the leaves of spring, 
With the violets blue as a bluebird's wing, 
'Tis then the waters sing low to me : 
"Hope, hope to eternity." 
39 



40 THE SONG OF THE WATERFALL. 

And often in summer at sunset hour, 
When the soul communes with a higher power, 
And the foaming waters are gold and red, 
Taking the hue of the heavens o'erhead, 

Then sweeter than ever it sings to me : 
"Peace, peace to eternity." 

I should like when I journey beyond the skies, 
Where the birds will sing, and the trees I prize 
Will shade me ever, to hear the song 
Of the waterfall, as it glides along, 

Unchanging ever, the same to me: 
"True, true to eternity." 



THE POOR AND THE RICH. 

She covered him over, her five-year old ; 
"He will never know poverty more," she said, 
As she petted the curls of his boyish head. 

" No feet be bare in the winter cold ; 

"No crying for bread, no wearisome hours 
Of labor ill-paid, from sun to sun ; 
No murmuring often when work is done; 

Shut up from the light, and the birds, and flowers. 

" From the rich and the lofty, no look of pride ; 
There'll be time to study and time to grow 
In the beautiful gardens the angels know ; 

It is well, it is well, that my boy has died." 

■$jc t(c t(c ^& t(c 

She covered him over, her five-year old ; 
" He is safe, he is safe," she sadly said, 
As she patted the folds of his narrow bed, 

And kissed the cheek that was white and cold. 

41 



42 THE POOR AND THE RICH. 

The room was gorgeous as palace hall, 

And fragrant with flowers of the richest hue ; 
Camelias, and roses, and violets blue ; 

And golden the hangings upon the wall. 

" He will never be spoiled by a life of ease ; 
No sin will entangle his sunny hair, 
Or crimson his cheek that is now so fair ; 

No wife in her sorrow will drink the lees 

Of a poisonous cup ; he is safe, my child ! 

My tenderest one ! I am satisfied ; 

Ah ! better, far better, my boy had died 
Than living in pleasure by sin defiled." 

For rich, and for poor, there are ills to bear; 

The waters are bitter for both to drink ; 

There are sorrows and burdens from which we 
shrink, 
And the angels have weighed us an equal share. 



LOOK UP, MY BOY. 

There is hope in the world for you and me ; 
There is joy in a thousand things that be; 
There is fruit to gather from every tree — 
Look up, my boy, look up ! 

There is care and struggle in every life ; 
With temper and sorrow the world is rife; 
But no strength cometh without the strife; 
Look up, my boy, look up ! 

There's a place in the land for you to fill ; 
There is work to do with an iron will ; — 
The river comes from the tiny rill — 
Look up, my boy, look up ! 

There are bridges to cross, and the way is long, 
But a purpose in life will make you strong; 
Keep ever at heart a cheerful song; 
Look up, my boy, look up ! 
43 



OUR TREE. 

It stands on the hillside, by the sea, 
And treasures a secret for you and me. 

Under its leaves our troth was told 

As the sun was setting in red and gold. 

And the stars came out, while the tender moon, 
Warm and sweet as a May-day noon, 

Flooded our hearts with mellow light, 

And the world seemed wondrous fair and bright. 



The moon shines now on the silver sea 
And kisses, as then, the spreading tree. 

And the leaves but echo our ardent breath, 
"I love you, darling, in life or death." 

44 



OUR TREE. 

Long after we two have sailed away 

To an unknown shore, where 'tis always day, 

Will stand on the hillside, the dear old tree, 
That holds a secret for you and me. 



45 



SUNSET AT ABO, FINLAND. 

Quaint city on the Finnish sea, 
Old when America was new ; 

How restful are thy rocks to me; 
Thy quiet streets, this ocean view. 

The great red sun gilds tree and dome, 
And kingly prison, cold and gray, 

And lingers on the churchly home 
Where lovely Catharine came to lay 

Her sceptre down among her own, 
And be at rest from care and strife; 

A peasant girl on queenly throne; 
To Eric, a devoted wife. 

It kisses, too, the sacred spring 

Where Pagans came, in rudest dress, 

To give themselves an offering 
Unto the Sun of Righteousness. 
4 6 



SUNSET AT ABO, FINLAND. 47 

I fancy mountains all aflame, 

With crests as golden as the stars ; 

I see ships riding on the main, 
With ruby decks and opal spars. 

Clouds chase each other on the blue 
Like children dancing on the wold; 

But now fades out the brilliant hue ; 
Red grows to purple, then to gold, 

And then to tender, dim twilight ; 

The boats lie silent in the bay; 
The winds are hushed ; chill grows the night, 

And Nature sleeps at close of day. 



UNITED. 

[Read on Veterans' Day, May xx, 1885, at the World's Exposition at New 
Orleans.] 

O balmy South ! O land of flowers, 
Of jessamine and orange bowers, 
Before your fragrant gates to-day 
United throng the Blue and Gray. 

Two decades since the sod was red 
With brothers' blood in conflict shed ; 
With smiles the land beholds to-day 
The union of the Blue and Gray. 

Love makes the vanquished victors now, 
And writes forever on the brow 
Of Liberty, our Queen for aye, 
One nation are the Blue and Gray. 
48 



UNITED. 



49 



Write it on history's sacred page, 

Unknown before in any age, 

United foemen strew to-day 

Flowers on the graves of Blue and Gray. 

Blest are the dead ; their work is done ; 
Ours broadens with each rising sun ; 
Heaven make us brave and true as they 
Who sleep in peace, the Blue and Gray. 



THE BRIDAL. 

The sun shone out in the morning, 

After the icy rain, 
And it looked like a sea of brilliants 

On wood, and mount, and plain. 

The willows bent with diamonds, 
And the pines with frozen spray; 

And the hawthorn trees were snowy white 
As in the month of May. 

And I stood by the window thinking 
How was this marvel wrought ? 

When an angel softly whispered,, 
"This is God's kindly thought. 

" When He formed the world in beauty — 
Each leaf, and flower, and tree, 

And saw that the work was perfect, 
And loved it tenderly ; 

50 



THE BRIDAL. 

"He sent the rain and the sunshine 
In days we number seven, 

And then in her crystal garments 
He made earth bride of heaven. 

"Each year He keeps the bridal, 
And will from age to age, 

To show to all His children 
Their royal heritage." 



5i 



AN ANGEL HERE. 

A ragged urchin played along the street, 
And slipped, and fell upon the icy way : 

A fair-browed girl tripped by with nimble feet, 
But sudden stopped beside the boy, who lay 

Half crying with his pain ; in sweetest tone, 
And eyes brim full of tender, human love, 

She said, "And did you hurt you much?" a 
groan 
Died on his lips : an angel from above 

Could not have grander seemed than she to him : 
He opened wide his great, brown, homeless 
eyes, 

Thus to be sure one of the seraphim 

Had not come down to earth in sweet disguise. 

She went her way, forgetting that she smiled, 
Glad to have said a word of hope and cheer : 
52 



AN ANGEL HERE. 53 

Not so the vision to the humble child ; 

That voice and face would live through many 
a year. 

And then to boys who gathered round the lad, 
He said, with face aglow with sympathy, 

And heart that 'neath his ragged garb was glad, 
"I'd fall again to have her spealc to me!" 

Oh precious human voice, with power untold! 

Oh precious human love to mortals given ! 
A word or smile are richer gifts than gold : 

Better be angels here than wait for heaven. 



A GOTLAND LEGEND. 

The Danish king, great Valdemar, 

Five hundred years ago, 
Came over the Baltic ocean 

To lay proud Gotland low. 

She was grand and rich in her limestone rocks, 

This island of the sea ; 
The great highway for Russian ships 

To Gaul and Germany. 

Her swine eat out of silver troughs, 

With gems her children play; 
And her maids on golden distaffs spin, 

Their quaint old ballads say. 

She was walled about with high watch towers, 

And faithful sentinels ; 
But Valdemar was a crafty king, 

And used not shot nor shells. 
54 



A GOTLAND LEGEND. 55 

He feigned himself but an officer, 

And wooed the prettiest maid 
That ever roamed on the Visby beach, 

Or sat in the linden shade. 

And day by day he came to know 

Each tower, and hill, and glen ; 
And then he slew the Gotlanders. — 

Full eighteen hundred men. 

He spoiled the homes, the churches burned : 

And jewels rich and rare 
He stole from the altars and the saints 

To deck his Danish fair. 

But his best ship foundered in the main, 

And near Karlsoar lies, 
Where two great carbuncles flash and glow 

Before the fishes' eyes. 

And what of the maid ? Did he pay her love ? 

Ah, no ! 'tis the story old, 
That the selfish forget the sacrifice, 

And barter their souls for gold. 



56 A GOTLAND LEGEND. 

But her people did not forget her wrong, 

And in her girlish bloom 
They opened a tower of the city wall 

And made her a living tomb ; 

Building her in, till the great hard stones 

Shut out the light of day; 
No moaning could reach the treacherous king, 

Who had blithely sailed away. 

And centuries hence the Jung-frutorn 

Will tell how the prettiest maid 
Of Gotland, all for a foolish love, 

Her home and friends betrayed. 



THE FULL MOON. 

High in the heavens I see thee glide, 
Happy as some expectant bride, 
Hung round about with robe of blue, 
With starry fringe of silver hue : 
My heart goes out in praise to thee, 
Sailing along the heavenly sea. 

Thou shinest upon homes to-night 
Where sorrow comes with shroud of white 
Thou kissest tenderly the sod, 
That those who have been called of God 
May not be lonesome where they sleep 
In new-made graves, so still and deep. 

Thou shinest upon souls whose speech 
Is love's sweet silence; lost in each, 
And found in each, — O rarest bliss ! — 
Sealed in the moonlight with a kiss. 

57 



58 THE FULL MOON. 

The grandest gift from heaven above, 
The purity of perfect love. 

Shine on, fair Moon, so calm and strong, 
My comforter, my cheer and song ! 
Thy beams reach out to other lands, 
To other hearts and other hands ; 
And, sweetest of all thoughts that be, 
Thou shinest on those dear to me. 



HER SMILE. 

" Was she beautiful ? " I said, 
" That so many hearts were led 

To her feet ? 
Was her mind of rarest kind, 
Depth and brilliancy combined, 

Thus complete?" 

" No ; not beautiful nor wise 

More than thousands whom we prize; 

But her smile 
Was like sunshine in a room 
That before was filled with gloom 

All the while. 

" It was frank, as if to say, 
' We are children for to-day ; 
Let us tell 
59 



60 HER SMILE. 

Of what heart would say to heart ; 
It was sympathy in part ; 
And a spell 

" Held you fast, and gave you hope ; 
Made you sure that you could cope 

Strong with life. 
Is it strange that men should say, 
'Twould be heaven with her to stay 

As my wife.' 

" She was true unto the end, 
Never losing once a friend, 

Great or small. 
None too poor to miss her grace, 
None too rich to love her face, 

Winning all. 

"And her smile was but the soul 
Showing on the lips the whole 

Beauty there ; 
Tender to adult and child, 
Loving, hoping, trusting, mild, 

Sweet and fair." 



THE GIFT OF A DAY. 

The night had been dark, and the winds were 

chill ; 
And a gray mist hovered above the hill ; 
While the floating clouds seemed boats of snow, 
Bearing the angels to and fro. 
Anon they glowed with a rosy hue, 
And a golden light on the seraph crew; 
And the gray mist grew to crimson sheen, 
Flooding the hills and the vales between. 

The gates of the east flew open wide, 
As the Sun came forth to greet his bride ; 
And Nature beamed to his glad embrace, 
As he stooped to kiss her dewy face. 
The birds sang sweet and the flowers put up 
With thankful heart each tiny cup ; 
And the nations knelt to praise and pray, 
For the gift from God of a bright, new day.' 

61 



